


You are so Alive, My Love

by VelociraptorNamedLucifer



Series: Good Omens Love Letters/Lettres d'amour [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canada, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - World War I, Angst, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Letters, M/M, Sad, Sad Ending, Soldier Crowley (Good Omens), Teacher Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23452624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelociraptorNamedLucifer/pseuds/VelociraptorNamedLucifer
Summary: Anthony J. Crowley is a Canadian soldier who had to leave behind Alexander Aziraphale, a teacher back home in Ontario, Canada, to fight in the war. Anthony writes a series of love letters to Aziraphale throughout the war, but never sends them; not knowing if Zira loves him back***Anthony J. Crowley est un soldat canadien qui a dû laisser Alexander Aziraphale, un professeur chez lui en Ontario, au Canada, pour battre dans la guerre. Anthony écrit une série de lettres d'amour à Aziraphale durant toute la guerre, mais il ne les envoie jamais; ne sachant pas si Zira l'aime en retour
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Love Letters/Lettres d'amour [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687135
Comments: 14
Kudos: 33





	You are so Alive, My Love

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Tu es si Vivant, Mon Amour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23318578) by [VelociraptorNamedLucifer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelociraptorNamedLucifer/pseuds/VelociraptorNamedLucifer). 



> Hey guys, this is for those on Tumblr who said they wanted to read my fanfic! For those not from Tumblr, this fic is a WWI Good Omens AU  
> It was originally written in French, but I translated it into English for those who asked me to. French version is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23318578 :)
> 
> ***
> 
> Bonjour tout le monde! Ce fanfic est pour ceux qui ont dit qu'ils veulent le lire. Pour ceux qui ne sont pas de Tumblr, ce fic est un univers alternatif (AU?) du Good Omens de la Première Guerre Mondiale (est-ce que cela a du sens??)  
> Il a été écrit à l'origine en français, mais j'ai traduit en anglais pour ceux qui ont demandé. La version française est ici: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23318578 :)

#1 - Belgium, August 1914

I don’t usually write. You, being the one who reads, knows that well. This letter, I imagine, is a mess (maybe, just maybe, it isn’t) but no one is going to read it, so I don’t think it matters. I don’t know why I’m writing this at all. Maybe it’s because I think I’m going to die in this great war; maybe it’s because I can’t deal with these treacherous feelings. Maybe, it’s because I think if I write this letter, if it’s in my hands and it’s real, if I let my heart melt onto the page, maybe you could find it. Maybe you could feel the same as me.

I miss you, my darling.

\-----

#2 - Belgium, December 1914

The fighting has finished. I hope the whole war is done too, but hope is nothing in a realm of such darkness. They sang Silent Night, in English and German and French, and metal stopped flying. The machine guns were silent, the tanks were motionless, just for a bit. The Christmas Truce, they should name it. Everything stopped, only thanks to the kindness of humans. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen something like that.

The sunrise was beautiful today, though the beauty of dawn through fog was nothing in comparison to your foggy ocean eyes. Freckles like constellations on your skin, your truly radiant smile. The sun might light up the sky, but you light up my life.

I hope to return home one day soon, my love, whether you share my affections or not.

\-----

#3 - France, May 1915

I am very familiar with the stars. You know that I adore them, that for so long I’ve looked at the bright and shining lights of the universe. You know that I feel like they’ve been created for me. Though in this world full of hate, in a society that has forgotten love, on a battlefield full of gas, I can’t see the stars anymore. You are the only star I can see, and you’re thousands of kilometres away.

Heaven and Hell would tear me apart for even thinking the words I’m putting down in ink. But, as these words can escape my sad, cold heart, as I can make my black marks on this world of paper, I know that one way or another I have gotten the privilege of telling you this. Even if I throw these letters into a big, vast ocean, even if I’m terrified; I hope that one day my words may wash up onto your beautiful golden shores.

Today was a bad day. I saw so many men die - those who went into the line of fire and were killed as if their lives meant nothing. I saw deadly gas in beautiful colours of green and blue and yellow. I was petrified. And I wasn’t scared of getting hurt or even of dying - though it was a miracle I lived this time - I’m just terrified that all of the creations of the cosmos are destroyed. Everything has died. The animals, the people; all of mother nature. I have even killed people. Everything has died, but you, my love, you are so alive.

\-----

#4 - France, October 1916

It hurts, angel. Everything always hurts. These letters, I imagine, were a way of getting rid of my feelings. A way to rid my mind the pain of hiding all the time. Even so, I still love you. I always lie; to my friends and to you. I wear my twilight glasses in the hope that the dark glass will cover up the love concealed behind my eyes. I say there’s no one that has stolen my heart. Although I’ve written three - now four - letters to the only person who has done exactly that. You’ve stolen my heart, my darling. You stole my heart like a masked bandit and you have yet to give it back. You’re the only thing I think about. The world is burning and I think only of you.

Maybe I should just send you these love filled pages. If I return home to Berlin, I could just slip these notes into your pockets. Just lay my heart onto a platter and give it to you. If you refused me, I’d understand. At least I would know. I want to know, because if I had at slightest idea that you returned my sentiments, nothing could stop me from crossing the seven seas to find you. Nothing, in all the universe. If I was in the ground, in a sap protecting me from bullets and bombs and someone told me you love me, I would risk my life just to get back to you. Hundreds of enemies could try and raid our trenches, but I would fight every one of them if it meant I could hold your hand. Even so, as soon as I saw you, I would melt into an anxious puddle.

I like to think I’m brave, but I’m more of a coward when it concerns you.

\-----

#5 - France, April 1917

My beloved, my divine angel

There are so many things I wish I could do with you. Go to St. James park in London and eat the crepes that you love so much. I want to dine with you at the Ritz one time in the future. I want to wake up in your bed with the sunlight shining on your hair, your sleepy smile, your rosy cheeks. You would blush if you knew the thoughts hidden in my mind. I have secret kisses imprisoned in my lips, and my useless, rotten hands yearn for the embrace of your fingers; for the touch of something other than a soldier’s pistol. I know these fantasies won't come true, you won’t find out about the love I’m expressing on these pages; but I can dream. I can wish.

In truth, these dreams are the only places I’m happy now. Here, in reality, we eat food that’s absolute junk. People kill one another and we’re expected to kill people too. Every day, we practice Arthur Currie’s strategy to conquer Vimy. Also, the trenches are horrible. Muddy and wet, cold and vulgar. You can’t really sleep and trench foot is inevitable and atrocious. The vileness of the trenches continue on for five kilometres. I’d move mountains if it meant I could be with you right now. If I could share your clothes instead of these filthy uniforms. If you could be mine, for today and forever.

Even if you can’t, I will be yours. Only in my dreams, yas, but yours nonetheless.

\-----

#6 - France, April 1917

I can’t face my feelings anymore. I wish I could erase your image from my mind. I want to forget all the times when I looked at you and felt love, all the times you laughed with your gorgeous smile. If I show my affections to the world I’ll be penalised, but I’m flickering. I’m a candle, angle, and you’re my oxygen. You are the wind in my hair, the air that I breathe. If I hide these feelings, if I try to seal them in the void of my chest, if I really forget, I think my flame would go out. You are the teacher, my love, I’m only a soldier. So please, tell me what to do. 

I have shrapnel in my stomach: I think I’m dying. I’m tired. So tired. Tired like when we spent all night drinking and talking nonsense in the bookstore, or when we spent all day walking near the river and feeding ducks. I’m tired, and I think I’m ready for a long, long sleep. A quiet nap of a century or more. Maybe, when I sleep, you will read my letters. Maybe, you’ll come find me, but I’ll be still and silent, I won’t open the door. Instead, I’ll be embracing you in my dreams. I miss you, my angel, and I don’t think I’m going to see you again. Everything is ending now. I hope the war will end too, that you won’t have to live in a world this awful any longer. I hope that one day you will fly away, and that someone will love you as much as I do. 

I can feel the pull of the cruel fingers of death. I can see a light, but I feel like I’m surrounded by darkness: It’s like the whole world is hitting me at once. My mother and father are on the other side; my sister is on the other side; I can hear blissful music on the other side. I’m at peace, finally. My mind is clear: I’m at peace. Take your time, my darling.

And I’m sorry Alexander, but I really did love you.

Yours always and forever, Anthony

**Author's Note:**

> I would love any feedback and tips you have for me about my writing! I really would love to know what y'all think. I hope you enjoyed it! :)
> 
> ***
> 
> Je serais ravie de toute la rétroaction et des conseils vous avez pour moi sur mon écriture!! J'aimerais vraiment savoir ce que vous en pensez. J'espère que vous l'avez apprécié! :)


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